


The Diary

by Rakshi



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rakshi/pseuds/Rakshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Frodo's birthay, and he has a special mathom for the one he loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Diary

Frodo had been writing for some time. Knowing from the look on Sam’s face that avoiding breakfast entirely was simply not going to be allowed, he had quickly eaten his tea and muffins then retired to his desk. Since then, his head had been bent studiously over the paper as he filled several pages with strong firm script.

It was difficult to think about many of the events he had experienced on his quest to destroy the ‘One Ring’. Writing about his exploits helped to ease his spirit, but only after the fact. While he was actually writing about these happenings, painful memories were drawn to the surface of his mind which often left him pallid and shaken.

Today, though, the words flowing from the beautiful feather-quill that had once been Bilbo’s were not about moments of fear and anguish. Today Frodo wrote in a different book… a book that would be seen and read by no one but himself, and possibly one other. Unlike the ‘Red Book’, which Frodo hoped would be read by many people, both Hobbits and other free people of Middle-earth, this was not a tome that chronicled world history. This was the record of a very private history. Frodo’s history.

He had kept a personal journal for many years. Even before Bilbo had left the Shire, Frodo would sit in his room or under the shade of a tall tree in the woods near Hobbiton and record his thoughts about the day’s events and the people who shared them with him. Since he’d returned from his long journey he often read this book. When darkness seemed to fill his heart, it took him on a different journey. As he read, he returned to a time of light and innocence. A time before the darkness found him… before he became a wanderer who might never see home again.

And when he took this journey, one name seemed to appear again and again.

 _Sam._

Frodo laid aside the quill and began to thumb through the journal, opening random pages and reading the entries recorded there.

>   
> Entry from the month of Rethe, the14th, 2983
> 
>  _Visiting Uncle Bilbo in Hobbiton. I wandered toward the village this morning to take the air, and on my way I met up with the young Gamgee lad. His father, Hamfast, is often about Bag End doing for Uncle Bilbo’s garden, but I’d never seen this sprout before. He’s only 3 or so, but he seems quite bright and eager to learn. What a chatterbox! Ihad no idea that one so young could talk so much, and about so many subjects!!_
> 
>  _He seems to see me as a personage of some renown, and looked at me today with huge brown eyes that seemed almost worshipful.I confess that I liked how it made me feel, vain though that may be. He was too far from his Hobbit-hole for one so young, so I guided him back to Bagshot Row, and was rewarded with a lovely blackberry pie made by his mother, Bell._
> 
>  _His name is Sam._  
> 

  
 _That was the beginning,_ Frodo thought, lost in memory. As he recalled, Sam came around Bag End more often after that first meeting, trotting behind Hamfast as the early morning sunlight cast its first glow across the fields, a sturdy little figure with a strangely determined face. Frodo would see him in the garden, bending to plant his seeds or tugging with both hands on weeds that his father directed him to pull. Frodo always made it a point to talk to him. Thinking of it now, he felt sure he was drawn to the adoration in Sam’s eyes. His sweet, child’s voice echoed in Frodo’s memory. Even at that tender age Sam was filled with love.

“How straight your rows are, Samwise,” Frodo would tell him, praising his seedlings. And Sam would blush and murmur: “Thank’ee kindly, Master Frodo.”

Bilbo was taken with Sam from the very beginning. Their relationship grew to be very special to both of them. And Frodo loved it when Sam came by for his lessons, which happened more and more often as time went by. It gave him great joy to watch Sam grow in mind as well as in body.

>   
> _  
> Entry from the month of Solmath, the 3rd, 2989_
> 
>  _  
> Sam was here again today. Uncle Bilbo is apparently teaching him his letters. When I entered I heard Uncle laughing and I confess that I stood in the foyer and listened. As I eavesdropped, I overheard this conversation:  
> _
>
>>  _  
> _
> 
>  _“Samwise Gamgee, you devious young scamp!” Uncle laughed. “What do you **mean** , ‘stories about Elves’? You were supposed to be studying your letters, young sir! What of the letter I assigned you? Have you done your practice writing?”_
> 
>  _Sam gave a murmured response which was too low for my ears to catch, and then Bilbo spoke again: “Let’s have your paper, then! If you’ve written your words with proper care, you shall have the ‘Lay of Gil-galad’, or as much of it as you fancy. Let’s see it now.”_
> 
>  _A quiet shuffling of papers reached my ears, then Bilbo spoke again in a voice gone soft with surprise and delight: “Why Sam! This is quite lovely. You’ve done well with your practice. But you only seem to have written one word for the letter I assigned you. Could you think of no other?”_
> 
>  _“No sir,” came Sam’s soft voice. “I could think of no other word for the letter ‘F’. No other word that I wanted to write at any rate, sir.”_
> 
>  _“Just the word ‘Frodo’?” Bilbo asked?_
> 
>  _“Yes, sir,” Sam responded shyly._
> 
>  _I heard Uncle clear his throat. “Well, you wrote that word most beautifully, Sam. And you shall have your Elf story. A fine effort, my lad. A very fine effort indeed!”  
> _

 _What a dear lad Sam is! I’m quite touched that he used my name to practice his letter. Uncle seemed impressed with his writing. I shall ask to see the paper later on._

 __  


Frodo smiled at the memory. _Samwise._ He would never understand how they could have named him thus. _HALF_ wise? Frodo thought, laughing softly to himself. Hardly that. There was wisdom in Sam that had not come from books, nor even from Bilbo’s teachings. It flowed from the insights of a true and simple heart. But life brought him harsher lessons - one which broke that simple heart in two.

>   
> _Entry from the month of Forelithe, the 21st, 2992_
> 
>  _Such sadness. Bell Gamgee was buried today in the tiny graveyard near the Bywater pool. Hamfast is beyond consolation. I saw Uncle Bilbo take his arm and walk with him awhile down by the water. They were gone for some time, and I did not presume to follow. Hamson and Daisy tried to be strong for the little ones, but it was clear that the whole Gamgee family had suffered a loss too deep to be borne._
> 
>  _I looked for Sam and found him kneeling by the grave weeping heartbrokenly, one small, brown hand resting on the lonely mound of fresh earth. I knelt beside him and took him in my arms, and though he is usually quite bashful around me he clung to me then and sobbed on my shoulder. I walked him home afterward and we spoke but little, taking the fields rather than the road so that we would meet no one on the way._
> 
>  _My dear little friend! He suffers so, and my heart broke to see it. I could hear him softly sobbing still, though he tried to hide it from me._
> 
>  _I reached for his hand and took it as we walked. I told him that we were true and honest friends who could share all things good and bad, and that tears were part of the path to healing._
> 
>  _We sat for a while in a grove of apple trees that grow near Bag End. I spoke of my mother, and how lonely and frightened I felt when she and my father were taken from me. I had not often spoken of this sad time in my life and we cried together for awhile with our arms about each other. I told him that this was something we had in common, that we have both suffered this pain. I told him it would make our friendship even stronger than it had been before. After awhile I walked him home. When I left him at the door to Number 3, he gave me a small, shy smile._
> 
>  _I think he felt better after our talk. I think I did too. I love my friend, Sam. I want always to be there when he needs me.  
> _   
> 

Frodo wiped away a tear. _So long ago!_ he thought. _And yet the sadness of that day lingers._ He glanced toward the garden where he knew Sam would be working. _I wonder if he thinks of that day too. The apple orchard became our favorite place to sit and talk, even after I became Master of Bag End. We spent hours there!_

He thumbed through his diary until he came to an entry whose pages were worn and obviously oft-read.

>   
> _Entry from the month of Astron, the 28th, 3000_
> 
>  __
> 
>  _It’s late; nearly dawn I suppose. But I can’t go to bed until I chronicle the events of this day.  
> _
> 
>  _I hardly know how where to begin or how to frame this entry. Tonight Sam and I stopped at the apple orchard on our way home from the ‘Green Dragon’. Deepest night had crept into the trees, and we talked awhile as we often do, sitting close together under the stars. I could hear the night sounds of the Shire all around us. Leaves overhead rustled softly, and crickets and frogs could be heard down Bywater way. But the murmur of Sam’s soft breathing was the sound which stirred me most._
> 
>  _Overcome for a moment by the quiet beauty of the night, I sighed and rested my head against his strong arm. After a moment I turned and saw a look of anguished fear in his wide brown eyes._
> 
>  _“Sam, what’s wrong?” I asked, though I knew the answer full well._
> 
>  _“Master Frodo,” he whispered. “Please, sir… please don’t – don’t tempt me. You know…” He hesitated, and then stopped, drawing slightly away from me._
> 
>  _“What do I know, Sam?”_
> 
>  _“You know how I feel towards you, sir,” he stammered. “You know my heart is yours and has been ever since I was a lad in your uncle’s garden.”_
> 
>  _“And mine is yours, my Samwise,” I confessed, allowing my fingers to trace softly down his cheek. “There is naught to fear in this.”_
> 
>  _And yet I did fear. He’s so young… so trusting of me. And though we are both grown now and free to choose this form of love, he still seems so innocent. Selfishly, I feared I might lose him. That our love, once realized, might damage the friendship I have come to treasure._
> 
>  _But later, when we lay naked in the orchard’s soft grass, I realized that I mistook his simplicity, thinking it reflected a childish nature. Sam is without guile, but not without an adult’s understanding of love. Our bodies merged without guilt or hesitation, and I have only dreams with which to compare the bliss I found in his arms._
> 
>  _When he kissed me farewell, with many whispered promises to meet again tomorrow, those arms were strong as they held me. And when he vowed his love would be mine forever I knew that this was a promise he made long ago though I knew it not._
> 
>  _I do not know what our future holds or where our paths may lead us. But I do know that where we go… we go together. And in that thought I find both joy and great peace._
> 
>  _Goodnight, dearest Samwise. I love you._
> 
>  __  
> 

Frodo stroked the page, staring at it thoughtfully. _Yet now,_ he thought sadly, _the time approaches when I must take a path separate from his. I know this parting will cleave his heart in two, but I can do no other. To stay is to be lost in utter darkness. A darkness that would consume him as well. I cannot do this to the friend that I love. Would that his love could heal me! By all that is blessed, I would never leave his side! But there **is** no healing for me save what I will find beyond the shores of Middle-earth. To stay would doom us both, for he would never forgive himself for not being able to drive the darkness from my soul. I must go. I must leave that which I love most deeply. Such is my doom. Such is his doom._

“May Eru forgive me,” Frodo whispered. “And bring us together again one day.”

He turned to the last page in the diary, the one he had just finished.

>   
> __
> 
> _Entry from the month of Halimath , the 22nd, 3020_
> 
>  _Today is my birthday. I know Sam is preparing a special dinner to which several of our dearest friends have been invited. He’s tried to hide these preparations from me, but I know him too well. The blanket he draped over the birthday treats and other dinner ingredients had no place in our pantry, and Hobbits are naturally curious creatures._
> 
>  _But I would have known even if I had not peeped under the blanket. His love for me runs so deep and so true that the day of my birth always fills him with elation - the desire to rejoice. I say this without vanity. It does not glorify me. It glorifies the love he bears me. That he celebrates my life fills me with humility and gratitude._
> 
>  _Where would I be without him? What would I be without him? When I was lost in utter darkness, Earendil's star was not my light when all other lights failed me. **He** was my light and my guide. His love was the strength upon which I was borne to the high mountain. His faith was the means by which the world was renewed. His hope was the foundation upon which the new age was laid._
> 
>  _He would never believe this. He would be horrified to hear me speak thus, seeing himself always as ‘merely’ a servant. And yet, what are the great but the servant of many._
> 
>  _I hope he knows how great is my love for him. May he never, ever forget that love. May he believe in it, no matter what new paths may open before us. May he always know that he is ever my heart’s hope and the light which guides me._
> 
>  _I will love you forever, my Samwise._
> 
>  __

Frodo gazed at these pages for a long time, then slid a single sheet of paper between the leaves of the book and closed it. He stood slowly, gazing out the window, craning his neck, searching the garden. Sam was nowhere in sight.

He walked outside, the book tucked under his arm, and spotted Sam kneeling near the front gate in earnest conversation with a group of marigolds which had begun to droop most alarmingly.

“Now see here,” Sam’s voice admonished tenderly. “I’ve done up this here potion for you. Got the recipe from Filbert Bracegirdle down Bywater way and his marigolds are some of the finest in the Shire.. next to **you** , of course. It’ll fix you up right proper or my name’s not Sam Gamgee.” He sprinkled the potion over the marigolds, turning his head slightly at Frodo’s approach. “Good afternoon to you, dear one. Come out into the light at last? A right poor way to spend your birthday to my thinkin’. Writing at your desk.”

“Talking to the flowers again?” Frodo asked, laughing.

“Laugh if you like,” Sam said sagely as he stood, wiping his hands on his breeches. “But flowers understand hobbit speech. They’re vain little things and want be told that they’re pretty.” He grinned and after taking a quick look up and down the path, gave Frodo’s cheek a soft kiss. “Makes my heart glad to see you out in the sunshine on your special day.”

Frodo took his hand and let him to a low bench near Bag End’s round, green door. “Sit with me a moment. Then we shall take a walk if you like, though to my mind it’s getting near time for making dinner… and _someone_ I know has a bit of party cooking to do.”

Sam shook his head. “If you aren’t the nosiest Hobbit in all the Four Farthings. You peeked into the pantry and after I used my best blanket to hide everything from you. Worse than a child you are, my Frodo.”

They both laughed softly, then sat together in silence for a moment. Finally Frodo took a deep breath and held the book towards Sam in his two hands. “Do you know what this is?”

“No, my Frodo, I don’t,” Sam replied. “’Tis a pretty thing though. I like the leaves on its cover.” He gently traced the fall leave design with a fingertip. “Autumn hasn’t always been the happiest time for us,” he said thoughtfully. “Still, the leaves are pretty and the cool nights are welcome.”

“This book is for you, Sam,” Frodo said. “It’s a journal that I’ve written ever since I was a child. In it, I talk about my life and many of the things I’ve done. But more importantly, I talk about the way I feel inside. It doesn’t simply describe events or places or people. In this book I reveal the deepest parts of my heart. It speaks the truth of who I am.”

“Then it’s a rare, fair treasure, my Frodo,” Sam said softly. “You should put it up someplace safe where none can bother it.”

“I want you to have it, Sam,” Frodo said, holding the book out to him. “I want you to read it and always keep it near you. It is for you alone.”

“Mister Frodo, I couldn’t!”

“But you **must**!” Frodo insisted. “I want this book to be in your keeping. I want you to have it near you always. Please, Sam. Promise me you’ll read it at those times when your spirit feels troubled and remember that the words in this book are the truth of my heart.”

For a moment they were silent, looking deeply into each other’s eyes, then Sam slowly reached for the book. Frodo could see that something in the intensity of his words had touched Sam’s heart with foreboding. There were questions in his dark eyes, but he said nothing, and took the book into trembling hands. “I’ll keep it safe, my Frodo,” he said solemnly. “It will be the greatest treasure of my life.”

“There’s a paper there too, Sam,” Frodo said, reaching to stroke his brown curls. “Look at it.”

Sam pulled the paper from between the book’s pages. “Well, bless me,” he said quietly. “Is this what it seems? Wherever did you find it?”

“Uncle gave it to me the day you did your lesson and I’ve kept it between the pages of my diary ever since.”

Sam stared down at the paper. The letter ‘F’ filled the page in a childish scrawl which he recognized at once. “You saved this?” Sam asked in a whisper, fighting back the tears that welled in his brown eyes. “This poor old writing of mine?” Sam leaned silently forward and pressed his forehead to Frodo’s shoulder. “Master,” he choked. “My dearest Master.”

“Not your master,” Frodo murmured, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Your love, perhaps. And in that we are equals, my beloved Samwise. And now…” he said in a brighter tone “…‘tis time a certain gardener I know got started in the kitchen. He has a birthday dinner to cook!” He gently grasped Sam’s shoulders and lifted him upright. “Else we shall have hungry Hobbits at our table this evening and that is no way to celebrate a birthday!”

“We can’t have that, my dear one,” Sam said, smiling. “Mister Merry would complain so loud he’d be heard all the way to Bywater!” He glanced at the paper again and sighed. “I miss him, Frodo. I miss Mister Bilbo. ‘Tis his birthday too, and I hope the elves in Rivendell do him a right proper party.”

“He was good to both of us,” Frodo said quietly.

Sam nodded. “And later perhaps,” he said in a low voice, “after dinner is over and we’re alone again… maybe we can read a bit of this book together, my Frodo?”

“I’d like that.”

“Happy Birthday, my dearest love,” Sam murmured, kissing his cheek without so much as a glance about to see who might be watching.

“It will be, Sam,” Frodo told him.

Sam pressed the book to his heart, and followed Frodo into Bag End.


End file.
